Page 172 of Scrimmage

“Uh.” I just stare. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Maybe I’m sleepwalking.

“It’s freezing in here, Ashland,” he growls, tearing his hoodie over his head and shoving it over mine. I instinctively put my hands through the arms. It smells like him, and it’s warm. So, so warm. I didn’t notice it, but I’m shivering.

“Cold equals awake,” I say through chattering teeth.

Koda finds the thermostat and turns the heat back on. “It’s cold out. You can’t do that. You’ll freeze to death. Come on.” He ushers me down the hallway into Penny’s room. “Lay down.”

He points at her bed and I just stare at him. “Did you drive back?”

“Yes. Your bed or Penny’s? I don’t really want to wake up with that cat you two feed meowing at me through her window.”

“What do you mean?”

“It stands there and paws at me to let it inside.”

“Not that. How did you know that was Penny’s room?”

“Hard not to figure it out. The walls are bright. You hate happy shit.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

He sighs. “You don’t want me in yours.”

“Did Penny tell you that?”

“Ashland, quit avoiding. Get to bed.”

I pout. “No.”

“Fine. We’ll do this the hard way. Your room it is.” He picks me up, tossing me over his shoulder, and carries me down the hallway.

“No, I’m not fucking sleeping.” I try to fight him, but I’m too tired, too weak. “You’re not really here. You’re just a robot trying to steal my body.”

Yanking the covers back, he tosses me onto the mattress.

“Where do you get this shit? You’re killing yourself by not sleeping. Now scoot the fuck over.” He shoves me into the wall and climbs under the covers, dragging me into his warm body. “Go to sleep,” he commands.

“No, I’m redecorating.”

He sighs and shoves my head into his shoulder. “I’m here, baby girl,” he says softly. “You can go to sleep.”

Those words are all it takes for my eyes to close. I know it’s a trap, a trick of the mind, but I can’t help it. I lose the battle and drift off.

The mattress sinks as Damien lays out next to me. He’s too big for this bed. It forces me into his arms, and it makes my skin crawl as much as I like the contact. I hear the turn of a page. A book? I flip to face him, and he’s got his back against the cinder block wall and my journal in his fucking hands.

“Is this what you think of me?” His voice is so nonchalant, and I think I might actually be in fucking trouble. This will be ten stars at least.

“It’s just stupid poetry,” I try to defend myself.

“If it was just poetry why were you hiding it under the mattress?”

“I wasn’t hiding it. It’s just a way for me to speak to myself,” I say sweetly. I know for a fucking fact that some of the shit I write in there is hateful and sad. Damien isn’t an idiot.

“Why do you need to speak to yourself when you have me?” He still hasn’t looked at me. He keeps reading, flipping the page each time he’s done. My heart starts beating wildly.

“You aren’t always here.” It’s a flimsy argument.

“Is that why this is so lonely? You miss me?”

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